Unorthodox Approaches
by Mounty Swiss
Summary: Sgt. Brown qualifies as an undercover teacher, but in law enforcement he needs coaching by the Chief… Set immediately after "Why the Tuesday Afternoon Bridge Club met on Thursday", January 1969, with references to "Up, Down and Even". (No need to know these episodes to understand the story.)
1. Chapter 1

**Unorthodox Approaches**

_WHN to "Up, Down and Even", set immediately after "Why the Tuesday Afternoon Bridge Club met on Thursday", January 1969.  
Sgt. Brown qualifies as an undercover teacher, but in law enforcement he needs coaching by the Chief…_

* * *

"…But please, Bob, handle this whole affair with utmost care, will you? A scandal is the last thing we need right now."

Ironside sighed.

"Yes, Commissioner, my staff and I will do our best, as usual."

That was the reason why Randall wanted Ironside and his team on this case: they would always give their best, and this best was better than anything the rest of the SFPD were able to do. By far. Yet handling things with kid gloves was not exactly what the brilliant criminalist was famous for…

* * *

When Ironside came back to his office, his young friends were putting their heads together over the newspaper, but hearing the door open they parted immediately. Ed and Eve tried to look busy while Mark went to get a cup of coffee for the Chief.

"This isn't by chance the reason why the Commissioner wanted to talk to you, is it?" Eve asked while handing him the newspaper. All over the front page the headline talked about another victim of the drug war.

"Sounds like the kind of job the Commissioner would call you in for, right?" Ed added, dropping his unread file back onto the table.

"That's what I would have expected too. I was as mistaken as you are," Ironside was trying hard to hide his anger.

"Would you please tell us what caused your bad mood, big master?" That was Mark, of course.

The two police officers had already sat down and were awaiting respectfully what their assignment would be.

"A few weeks ago the huge, brand new conveyor belt of a refuse incineration plant in San Rafael was sabotaged before it could be put into operation. Yesterday it was ready to start again, but last night the CEO of the company operating this refuse incineration plant got a bomb threat. Now this CEO, a Mr. Burt Mallone, is an old friend of Commissioner Randall's and a generous donator to the police widows' fund."

"Ah, there is our connection to San Rafael," Mark threw in.

"Mr. Mallone wants this case to be handled with discretion. To put it bluntly: He is still not sure if the sabotage and the bomb threat were made by real criminals or if they are only boys' pranks. But as long as he can't operate the plant he loses hundreds, if not thousands of dollars a day." Ironside's poker face didn't give away anything about his feelings, but his friends knew him well enough to feel that he was not happy about the assignment.

"Why doesn't he ask the San Rafael police for help?" a practical Eve wanted to know.

"Because he is not sure if his own teenage son is – maybe – involved with the group who might or might not be behind the problems. If he is, he would not want to press charges against anybody of course."

Ed nodded. Everything fell into place: The Chief's bad mood – he didn't like accommodating people, especially not when there was more important work to do - as well as the Commissioner's desire of them helping his friend.  
"Where do you want us to start, Sir?" he asked.

"Pierce Mallone and some of his friends, who may also be involved, are sophomores at San Rafael High.  
Ed, you did fine as a high-school teacher the other day. I want you to go undercover again. You will teach math, Phys Ed and as a special course the history of the Marines – that should be easy for you to teach. See if these boys have something to hide.  
Eve, you try to find out if Burt Mallone has any personal enemies and if there was any political resistance against the project."

"And what about me?" Mark wanted to know.

"You are behind schedule with your homework as far as I now. Catch up with it until I need you!" Ironside smirked.

* * *

Without too much enthusiasm Sgt. Brown remembered his recent experience as a teacher: kids falling asleep during class, walls of silence against teachers and the police, sneakiness in view of drugs and crime.

So it was with mixed feelings that he started his – hopefully short – career as teacher 'Edward Grey' at San Rafael High.

Yet on his first day he was pleasantly surprised: of course there were rascals who tried to provoke him, and some of the girls seemed to be more fascinated by the young teacher than by math. But he also met some very interested teenagers, and his teaching style seemed to match their needs. Among the sophomores, a small boy attracted his attention in math class. Andrew Drake seemed to be very intelligent and alert. He was the son of an immigrant family, refugees from Romania for religious reasons. Obviously the family had Americanized their names. It was a pleasure to discuss alternate approaches to math problems with Andrew.

Ed didn't delude himself though: Problems would emerge as surely as the 'amen' in church.

* * *

Eve's background check didn't lead to any direct results: The people working at the refuse incineration plant were mostly Mexicans and Orientals. It was difficult to be sure about their lives before they had come to the US. Yet there was no one really suspicious among them. Not one of them had a record in the States.

In view of political opposition there was no obvious lead either: people hoped that the extension of the refuse incineration plant would generate additional jobs and higher taxes for the town, so there was not much opposition against it. Some of the town fathers had admonished that the town might perhaps lose some of its charm with such a huge plant, but strangely enough the concession had been given unanimously.

"Don't tell me that those politicians were not bribed. But I doubt that they would sabotage the plant now. They would rather try to get more money out of it," Ironside thought aloud.

Ironside's mood went from bad to worse though. It wasn't that Eve didn't do any good detective work. But it made him angry that he was not allowed to help stop the drug war which seemed to him far more important than their present assignment.

Trying to find a different angle Eve asked: "Is there a Mrs. Mallone?"

"Yes, Mrs. Belinda Mallone, but I don't know anything about her."

In fact there was still a lot they didn't know.

"It makes no difference how we dawdle our time away. Find out if there is a problem around Mrs. Belinda Mallone."

* * *

On the second day three sophomores were late in Grey's math class – about a quarter of an hour late; Pierce Mallone was among them.

Ed knew exactly that this was a test. Personally he didn't mind. Teaching was easier without them. He had already acquired a liking to teaching in general and specifically to trying to explain complicated things in a way that even the slower students understood them. Still he was well aware of the fact that he would not be able to turn everybody into a math genius, at least not if they were not interested at all like these three. But he could not let them get away with being late, otherwise he would become unbelievable as a teacher.

"Tomorrow you will be on time," he said, very calmly, and went on with the tuition, already thinking about how he would proceed with them.

* * *

"Chief, you won't believe this!" Eve exclaimed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Chief, you won't believe this!" exclaimed Eve.

"Why not? Mrs. Mallone is not the first wife of a rich man who feels neglected or bored," Ironside answered coolly.

"?"  
The pretty policewoman needed a second to regain her composure. "How did you guess that, Sir?"

Ironside put on an air of Mr. know-it-all: "That's not guessing, that's pure logic. I sent you to investigate Mrs. Mallone. You would not have barged in like this and have asserted that I would not believe you if you had found out that the Mallones are a picture-perfect family, would you? What could you have found out to be wrong then? Mrs. Mallone having an affair, most probably. Who is it, the chauffeur or the tennis instructor?"

"The physical therapist." She looked somehow numb. With all the worldly wisdom she liked to demonstrate she was nonetheless a sheltered girl who was still shocked about the imperfectness of the human race.

"Come here," said the Chief. She sat down at his side and he laid his hand onto her arm.

"You think that rich people carry a responsibility and that they should be examples to others. That's what you expect from yourself and from people like you. But not everybody can live up to these standards. Money tends to have the opposite effect."

Eve nodded, sighing. "She has her own money, she is financially independent from her husband."

"You see, that's one of the problems of gender equality: As soon as women are emancipated, they become sinners like us men," he tried to make light of the situation.

She threw him an angry look, but only because she thought that he would expect that from her. "Do you suspect her of being behind the attack and the threatening note?"

"It could have been just about anybody. I had the threatening letter analyzed. We will have to wait for the results."

* * *

On the third day teacher Grey took precautions: He organized the key to the door of his classroom. When his three 'special customers', as he called them secretly, didn't show up on time, he closed the door to the classroom.  
Twenty minutes into the math lesson someone banged against the door, but he didn't care. His students were somewhat confused, but then they concentrated on their binomial formula.

"Tomorrow there will be a test on what you learned today," Grey announced before dismissing class.

And that was what he did. The three latecomers were on time, but they failed the test miserably, while all the others did just fine.

"I will tell my father and you will lose your job," threatened Pierce Mallone.

"No, I won't," the teacher answered sedately. That much was for sure. But the thought of a snotty brat being able to cause a teacher to lose their job alarmed him. What kind of world was this?!

Yet from then on every student was on time for Grey's lessons.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Only a short chapter – but a great effort from my beta!  
Thank you, my dear Lemonpig!_


	3. Chapter 3

Finally Ironside got the analysis of the threatening letter: Roberts, the best among the chemists at the lab, had been on holidays, which was why it had taken longer than usual. But the result was more or less what he had found out himself:

"It's a sheet of cheap typing paper," the Chief explained to Eve. "The characters were cut out of a newspaper. The letters were the most commonly used, so they don't help us narrow down the set of suspects. The glue which was used is the very simplest kind: just flour and water."

"I don't know why I hope that Belinda has nothing to do with it," said Eve thoughtfully. "At least this combination would be rather unlikely for a rich woman to use."

"Unless she would have chosen this material on purpose to fool the police," Ironside objected.

She sighed. "Why can't things be easy for once?"

* * *

The next challenge for the new teacher at San Rafael High arose in the sophomores' Phys Ed.  
It turned out that Pierce, being taller and stronger than most others, was among the best sportsmen. Little Andrew however wasn't, and Pierce and consorts let him feel it. It didn't escape the trained police officer's alertness that he was bullied in every possible way.  
For a few minutes Ed kept a wary eye on the boys. At the same time he thought about how to stop them.

"Okay, tell me who you consider to be the best athlete!"

As he had anticipated it was Pierce who appointed himself. Some others nodded, and some cheered him.

"Would you like to take me on?"

After his rebuff in math the teenager was more than a little tempted to pay the teacher back for it with interest.

"Depends on what."

"One discipline your choice, one mine." Ed hoped strongly that Pierce would not choose something like floor exercises, which he would not be able to do convincingly. But then the rowdy was not likely to choose that kind of sports. The old-fashioned tracksuit did conceal Ed's athletic body, but not his long legs, so the boy would back off from running. Chances were good that he would prefer something more prestigious like wrestling or boxing. Ed knew well that he was no Bruno Sammartino or Muhammad Ali, but he had learned how to handle himself and he hoped that he would be able to keep up with the muscular youngster, especially because of Pierce's exaggerated opinion of himself.

"If you win I won't count your last math test. If I win you will not bully anybody anymore. Deal?"

"Deal! I want to wrestle. Freestyle."

"Fine. And I want us to clamber up the rope." A few reserved boos showed him that some of the boys didn't consider climbing as a men's sport.

Yet the class was fascinated by the duel. Ed sensed that not all of them were keeping their fingers crossed for Pierce. Some were hoping against hope that their unimposing teacher would win and put Pierce in his place.

Ed was not being fair towards the boy, he was well aware of that. But he was fighting for a higher kind of fairness right now. The rope had always been one of his fortes, partly due to his physical constitution, partly to his training in the Marines. The teenager didn't stand a chance.

All the more furiously Pierce pressed for the fight, thinking that his lanky adversary was too clumsy to keep up with him. The teacher was taller, but Pierce slightly heavier.  
This time Ed didn't want to show his skills too clearly. He let the boy play around with him for a short time. Then, with a few very quick moves he flung him on his back, pinning his shoulders to the mat just long enough to show the audience who the winner was, but to leave open the question how he had done it and if it was perhaps only a fluke.

There was no question though that he had won, and most of the students acclaimed him wholeheartedly.

Ed helped Pierce to his feet. "Okay pal, I take it you are a gentleman. Agreed?"

The boy understood him.  
Ed threw a last look around. "This was a gentleman's agreement, you are all witnesses. I trust that it will be kept. And I trust that every gentleman here does the same or challenges me personally."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ironside decided to pay a visit to Belinda Mallone - alone. He was well aware of the fact that he was still attractive to women. Sometimes they would open up to him, but with Eve present they felt inhibited.  
Mark drove him to San Rafael. He waited for his boss in the paddy wagon.

He had not announced his visit, but he was lucky: She was home and she was willing to let him in.

Belinda must have been a beauty in her youth. Now she was in her forties, medium height, brunette, her face showing traces of goods used too much: too much smoking, too much good food, too much sun, probably also too much alcohol. She was clad in a shapeless silk kimono and smoking using a golden cigarette holder.

She led her visitor into a beautifully-furnished living room.  
The 'Van Gogh' on the wall looked authentic.

"Would you like a drink, Mr. Ironside?"

Keeping in mind her 'too muchs' he scrapped the idea of a good glass of bourbon. "Yes, a cup of coffee would be nice."

Belinda called an invisible servant. Ironside had not expected that she would make the coffee herself.

"Have you found out who is disturbing my husband's circles?"

"We are working on it."

"I hope you will arrest them soon."

She sounded angrier than Ironside would have expected from a cultivated lady.

"Your husband must be losing quite some money because of the threats."

"Money!" she exclaimed in the dismissive way only a millionaire's wife can.

"What is it then, if not the money, that bothers you?"

"He has hardly any time off as long as that _thing_ doesn't work properly!"

Ironside decided to push her a little. "Is that why you decided to have a bit on the side?"

She didn't even seem surprised. "So you found out about Roger. I heard that you are very resourceful. And now you suspect me of being behind the problems in the plant, don't you?"

"_Are_ you behind the problems?"

"No. And Roger has no importance at all. I still love my husband." She looked him directly into the eye.

She was still a beauty, Ironside thought. He wished her the energy to pull herself together, get dressed adequately and face her life.

At any rate she didn't look guilty, but worried to death.

"And who is? Your son?"

She stood up and walked towards the window.

"Do you have children, Mr. Ironside?"

He thought of his three young friends. They felt like his family. He worried about them, and he felt their affection for him. But that was not what she meant.

"No."

She seemed to be speaking to the window. "Then you don't know what it feels like when the son you love slips away from you. When you don't have any influence left on what he does. You don't know what he does at school, or at night for that matter. If you ask him, he tells you to mind your own business. You feel helpless. Every phone call could be the police …"

"Why do you think that you can't influence him?"

"He's six feet tall and built like his father, he must weigh 180 pounds already. What can I do?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking of bashing him up when I talked about influence. The most common thing to do would be to talk to him, would it not?"

"Whenever I start talking to him we get into a quarrel. It's no use."

Ironside pondered his next words thoroughly.

"What about a little more distance, like a good military school away? He might be thankful to come home for his holidays and conflicts would be reduced."

"My husband suggested this weeks ago, and Pierce would not mind, I think. But how would I know whether he would not get into trouble again? And there we would have no possibility to talk to the police if he were arrested…"

"It could not be worse than now, could it? He has to grow up and start making his own choices. Try to let him go."

She looked at him with a very thoughtful look in her beautiful eyes. She felt that this big man in the wheelchair had something to say. His life could not be easy, obviously he had gone through his own fights. This made him somehow trustworthy.  
She felt more confident than in a long time. She looked into his sage, beautiful blue eyes. He was the first person who had really listened to her in a long time. Perhaps he was the first one she had actually trusted with her problem. What was it about this man that made him so special?

Her situation might not be hopeless after all. "You are right. I will. Thank you, Mr. Ironside. And please, find out who sabotaged my husband's plant, who_ever_ it was."

* * *

On Thursday, teacher Grey had to correct exercise books. At 7pm he was almost through, but his head started spinning. In order to relax for a moment he opened a window. It was dark outside, and the January air chilly. In a corner of the schoolyard, not far away from his window, he saw the glow of a flashlight. Was the caretaker still at work?

Yet what he heard told him differently: "…Everybody has to pay protection money. If you don't pay it to us there will be others, but they will want more than ten dollars, and they may very well hurt you."

The expression 'protection money' hit a nerve. It was something Ed would never tolerate. In his opinion protection racket was one of the meanest things kids could do to one another.  
Without further thought he ran out of the classroom, down the stairs and across the schoolyard towards the corner in question.  
A staircase led down to a cellar room. Brown heard the sounds of a fight, something scratching over a wall and a cry.

Ed went a few steps down and shouted: "Stop it!"

Three men, or big boys, were pushing around a smaller boy. The big ones wore stocking masks to cover their faces, and the small one… was Andy Drake. He was clinging to a violin case for dear life.

Ed stepped further down the stairs. "Let the boy go!" he ordered.

"That's the new teacher. What a jerk! Let's teach him a lesson!"

An ordinary teacher would perhaps not have been able to recognize the muffled voice – unlike a trained police officer: Ed knew immediately that it was Pierce Mallone's. He was not sure about the identity of the others though.

"Sir, be careful, they have weapons!" warned Andy.

Now that his eyes became adjusted to the dimness Ed saw that two of them held baseball bats in their hands. The third one, Pierce, pulled a bicycle chain out of a plastic bag. All three closed in on him.

"Andy, get out of here," he ordered calmly.

Making sure that the boy obeyed, he saw the chain flying towards him too late…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It left a streak of burning pain over his back and encircled his right arm.  
Ed ignored the pain, pressed his arm on his ribs and pulled back suddenly.  
Pierce could not resist the unexpected traction. He stumbled directly onto Ed's left uppercut. It sent him flying towards the closed cellar door, where he went down heavily.  
The second attacker raised his baseball bat to hit the teacher who dodged the blow, swung the chain back and smashed the bat out of the hand of the assailant.  
The third boy saw his friends being disarmed and sought refuge in flight, instantly followed by his buddies.

Ed would have liked to pursue them, but he needed a moment to recover from the pain in his back.  
The chain had hit him over his shoulder blades. The wound was probably only superficial, but he could have done without it.

Andy climbed the stairs back down.

"Are you all right?" Ed asked worriedly, remembering the fight he had witnessed before he had been able to intervene.

"I'm fine, it's just my violin case which is a little scratched. But you are bleeding, Sir. Do you want to come home with me? It's not far. My mother could take care of your injury."

Ed was only wearing a shirt, since the classroom had been more than warm enough, and it had hardly protected him against the bite of the chain.  
Yet the last thing he fancied right now was anybody's mother making a big fuss about him. The very last.  
On the other hand it was probably a good idea not to leave Andy alone right now. Therefore he nodded.  
With his handkerchief he picked up the lost bat, the chain and the plastic bag Pierce had discarded in the corner. There might be some usable fingerprints.

Ed went to the classroom to get his jacket and stow his students' exercise books and the items he had collected after the fight. Then he followed Andy towards the Canal area.

"My father is a reformed pastor," he explained, "but our congregation is very small. To make a living for us he also works in construction."  
He threw his teacher an admiring look. "Sir, where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I was in Vietnam," Ed answered vaguely.  
He was a little absentminded. Was there a connection between his actual assignment and this little episode?  
Yet the incursions in the plant had been done with a certain amount of finesse. Tonight's rowdies hadn't shown a trace of that.

It slipped his attention that the boy at his side shut himself off. The gap between them became distinctly wider.

Wordlessly Andy branched off towards a very modest apartment building in the Canal area.  
He opened a door and shouted: "Mom, somebody needs your help!"

A tall, slim man in his mid-forties approached. "Good evening, Sir, come in."  
He spoke with an accent Ed could not place immediately – it had to be Romanian.  
Andy's mother joined them. She was petite and looked about forty. Her hair was graying prematurely.

"I'm reverend Peter Drake, and this is my wife Deborah. What can we do for you?"

Ed felt like an intruder. He had hoped that Andy would introduce him to his parents. But strangely enough the boy had vanished.  
"Er… I'm Edward Grey, your son's new teacher. There was a little incident at school, and I wanted to see Andy home. I'll leave now…"

"Sir, are you hurt?" Gently Deborah urged Ed into her kitchen. She had noticed that he held his shoulders in a strange way.  
"Take off your jacket while I get the first aid kit."

"It's just a scratch, there's no need …" Ed objected, but to no avail.

Peter addressed him: "Sit down, Mr. Grey. Andrew told us a lot about you. You must be an excellent teacher. Would you like to tell us what happened tonight?"

Ed liked his unobtrusive manners. But how much should he tell the father of the boy? He would be very worried…

Something banged against the kitchen door. Peter smiled and opened it.  
"Tommy, you want to know what's going on, don't you? Do you want to say hello to our guest?"

A small, very strange-looking being came into the kitchen, sliding on his backside.  
Since he was wearing boys' clothes and called Tommy he was most probably male, somewhere between two and four years old. His legs were crippled and he could only use them to pull his body forward and keep his balance at best. His arms were very thin and far too short. From time to time a twitch went through his body.

"Dedo!" he said. His mouth was deformed too, yet two wonderful blue eyes looked curiously up to the stranger in his mother's kitchen.

Ed had no idea how he should react. What did the child expect him to do?  
"Hello!" he answered friendly. "Do you like to be picked up, young man?"

The child started to wave with his arms and Ed looked at his father, seeking help.

"Yes, Thomas would like that," answered Mr. Drake smiling.

Ed bent down, but the pain in his back made him wince.

"Sorry, Sir, I wasn't aware…" Peter picked up Tommy himself.

The blue eyes clouded with worry at once. The boy tilted his head. "Boo?" he asked.

"Yes, Tommy, Mr. Grey is hurt. Mom will help him."

"Boo," said the little boy again, and to Ed it sounded far more compassionate than any sympathy anybody had ever shown him.

"It's only a scratch, don't worry!" he softened.

Together with Deborah a girl about twelve years old entered.

"Sarah, take Thomas to bed, will you? I will come up afterwards for his evening prayers."

Sarah took her brother off her father's arm and waved: "Good night, everybody!"

"Bae," said Tommy.

"He wishes you to get well," translated Deborah.  
She urged Ed to take off his jacket.  
When Peter saw the blood on Ed's shirt he excused himself. "I'll say good night to Tommy."

The shirt was beyond repair. Deborah cut it off, pulling it gently away where the blood had partly dried.

"Could you please bend forward, Sir? It would be easier to clean the wound," Deborah proposed.

Ed laid his head onto his crossed arms on the table.

She started to disinfect the streak across his shoulder blades with iodine.

He gritted his teeth. What was this against the pain of having a handicapped child!

"What did this?"

"A bicycle chain."

"What an ugly weapon," she said sadly.

Ed could only agree. It _felt_ ugly.

"It must be difficult to love the people who did this to you."

Love? That was not exactly what Ed had in mind when he thought of them…

She covered Ed's back with a bandage.

Impressed and confused by what he had witnessed over the last few minutes, Ed put his jacket back on and left with a thank you which seemed hardly adequate. Andrew didn't show up again.

What a family! A picture in the corridor had shown all the children together: there were two more.  
The apartment did not appear large enough for the seven persons who had to live there: probably just two bedrooms and a reception room.  
Their way with the handicapped child was incredible, full of love, and Thomas seemed to develop a sensitivity which went far ahead of his years.  
Ed just wondered what had happened between himself and Andrew. Why had the boy just vanished? Had he said something which had hurt him?

When the door closed behind him Ed threw back a quick look.

What had Deborah said? Love Pierce? Hardly!  
But it was a good question indeed. How would he handle him on Monday, the next time he would see him? He wasn't even sure who the other two had been. It would be difficult to face his students, not knowing who liked weapons and would perhaps use them again…

In spite of his tiredness Ed drove back to San Francisco, stopping at his apartment to put on a fresh shirt and jacket.

He had to talk to his boss. Pierce Mallone had climbed up quite a bit on his suspects' list, although he could not explain the discrepancy between today's bold attack and the somewhat more sophisticated sabotage of the plant.

The more he thought about it, the more he asked himself: Why on earth should Pierce want to damage his father's company? Perhaps it was some kind of generation conflict or teenage rebellion. Or was there someone else responsible all together?

Ironside, who had been asleep, was wide awake within seconds after Brown's arrival. This ability to adjust to every situation within the shortest notice was one of the many reasons why he was San Francisco's most successful detective.

Attentively he listened to Ed's report which included his open questions, but not his injury. The Sergeant just mentioned a conflict with Pierce and two unknown boys or men.

The Chief shared his doubts. Pierce was no paragon, that much was for sure. But was he really behind the attacks on the refuse incineration plant? If so – what were his motives? If not – who else was it?

Ironside came to a conclusion. "Let's give them a chance to make another move. I will tell Mallone to announce the putting into operation of the plant. He shall invite all his employees to a celebration of that event, seemingly letting the plant unguarded. We will be there instead of them. Let's see what happens."

* * *

'We', that was Mark for the first half of the night and Ed for the second half.

Mark's surveillance had passed quietly.  
It was going on 5.30 am when Ed finally heard a sound other than the ones occasionally caused by small animals.  
The Sergeant hid behind a truck.  
Somebody was climbing over the fence of the plant, using a tree outside the area as a ladder and jumping down from it. In his hand he was holding a long, thin object.  
Who could it be?

Ed kept his flashlight ready and pulled his gun. He had no intention of shooting at Pierce, his friends or whoever they were, but he would have to show them that he meant business.  
He expected other shadows getting into the area, but there was only one. He was moving towards the new conveyor band.  
Ed sneaked behind him. When the intruder lifted his long object – what looked like a crowbar – Ed switched on the flashlight and shouted: "Knock it off!"

The shadow froze and turned around. It was not Pierce Mallone.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It was Andrew Drake.

For a second Ed expected that Andy would hit him with the crowbar.  
He didn't. Instead he let it drop and ran off.  
Ed followed suit. He caught up with the boy just before they reached the fence. He cornered him, but didn't grab him. He didn't want to hurt him; he wanted to know what was going on.  
But the boy, whom he knew as being docile, turned into a wildcat.  
Ed was completely taken aback and stumbled back against the barbed-wire fence, hitting it hard with his back. He could not entirely suppress a cry of pain: the welt of the chain was still sore.  
Now that he could have got off Andrew didn't run but stood there like petrified.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't want this to happen. You were hurt because of me in the first place, and now…"

"Forget about that," interrupted Ed, his voice low because he was breathing flatly, "but what are you doing here?!"

"I can't tell you." Andrew seemed to withdraw again.

"You will have to." Ed had his voice almost under control now, but pain and disappointment were shining through.

"No Sir, what I do with my spare time is none of your business as my teacher. And by the way I could ask you the same thing: what are _you_ doing here?"

Reluctantly Ed pulled his wallet out of his pocket and showed Andy his badge.

"Sgt. Brown, not Mr. Grey? So you are a police officer, not a teacher?"

Ed nodded. He would not tell the boy more than necessary.

"You said that you learned how to fight in Vietnam! Was that a lie too?"

This time Brown shook his head.

"In that case you would not understand why I am here. You can only put me in jail…"

Ed took a deep breath. "We'll have to talk about it. Let's go and get your crowbar first."

They went back to the plant.  
Ed let Andy pick up the crowbar. He trusted now that the boy would not use it against him.  
After a look at the eastern sky, where the stars were fading, he pulled out his mobile radio. He was not only a by-the-book-officer, he was also Ironside's man, and this time the second fact was more important: Before pressing charges against the boy he wanted to know more.

"This is Sgt. Brown," he radioed. "Since the night is almost over I don't expect that there are yet any visitors to come. I will leave now, please take over." No word about an intruder.

Together they left through the large gate.  
Ed opened the trunk of his Ford and Andrew stored the crowbar in it.  
They climbed into the car and left.

Ed stopped not far away in a little wood. He leaned back to relax somewhat after the long night watch but grimaced when the pain in his back reminded him of his bruise.

"Now?" he addressed the boy in the passenger's seat.

"If you were in Vietnam, you will not understand," Andy repeated.

"You will just have to try me."

Reluctantly Andy gave in. "You have seen my little brother, Tommy, haven't you?"

Instantly Ed was wide alert.

"He is not the only small child like that in our area. And there are others with leukemia and many adults with different kinds of cancer. I know because my mother goes to see them very often and because my father has so many funerals."

He stopped as if he expected some kind of objection from the police officer.

"You don't believe me."

"I do," said Brown flatly.

"Now I know that in Vietnam defoliants are being used for biological warfare. And I also know that Vietnamese people have the same diseases as our folks here."

Andrew looked down at his hands, which were laying cramped in his lap. Therefore he didn't notice that the Sergeant's face had turned pale.  
Only too well did he know 'Agent Orange' and 'Agent Pink', the herbicides the boy was referring to*. He had personally seen some of their effects on people, and he had read about possible birth effects, although it was not proved that there was a connection. He didn't object to that though.

Instead he stated: "And now you think that this refuse incinerator has something to do with those cases of birth defects and illnesses."

"I knew that you would not believe me.  
Listen, they promised that there would be a new flue gas cleanup system after the retrofitting. But there was none. They only built this huge conveyor belt which gives them the possibility to burn more trash – and produce more flue gas."

"And so you sabotaged the belt and later you wrote the bomb threat. And tonight you wanted to destroy something with that crowbar."

"Yes, Sir. I know that I did wrong.  
But what should I have done? Do you have any idea what it is like for my mother to see her little boy, day after day, suffering, unable to talk or walk? Seeing that he has no chance at all to ever live a normal life? And there are other mothers like her. How many more must there be until somebody stops this refuse incineration plant?"

Ed saw that Andrew had tears in his eyes, and he understood his immense distress.

"Your parents don't know what you did here, do they?"

Andrew shook his head no. Of course they would not have agreed.

"They pray for the sick people and for the handicapped babies and they try to help their families, and my father preaches forgiveness towards the ones responsible. They just don't understand that we absolutely _have_ to do something to prevent the company from going on."

This boy bore a lot more than what his young shoulders should be bearing.

In the stretching silence Andrew asked, desperation in his voice: "What happens now?"

Ed felt dog-tired, his back was sore and he knew that even in the best case he would have a tough fight ahead.

He shrugged his shoulders. "We'll try."

Andrew looked at him flabbergasted. "What?"

"You said that we had to do something. I say that we'll try."

He willed himself to grin and laid an arm around the boy's narrow shoulders, just for a second, to give him a quick pat.  
"Look, I can't promise you anything. I will try to convince my boss, Chief Ironside, of verifying what you said about birth defects and illnesses and about the refuse incineration. He's the smartest person you can imagine. And _if_ there is something wrong, he will be the one who can help you, and nothing will stop him from doing so."

Andrew looked confused, unsure if he could trust a man with two names, two jobs and apparently two different personalities.

They stopped at Ed's place. The Chief would not appreciate it if he showed up at six in the morning with his five o'clock shadow and in the dusty black pants and the torn turtleneck pullover he had been wearing.

Ed walked into Ironside's office alone. The Chief sensed instantly that he was agitated.

"What's eating you, teacher?" he asked instead of greeting him.

"Nothing." His ornery mule look said the contrary – and much louder than his statement.

"Solved the problem?"

The Sergeant shook his head: "Not exactly, no." In fact there were more unsolved problems now than before.

"You are a Sergeant of detectives. Are you unable to do the job I trusted you with?"

"No. Sir." That sounded wooden.

"What's the matter then?"

Ed made an effort and explained Andy's view of the dangers for the environment caused by the refuse incineration, and the boy's involvement.

"So you think what the kid did was right?"

"No."

"Do you have any idea of the consequences of what you are saying? The director is an old friend of the Commissioner's. He donates considerable sums to the police widows and orphans fund. Do you trust a teenage boy more than this man, Sergeant?"

Ed didn't answer, but his look spoke louder than words that he could not understand his boss' argumentation.

Ironside threw his famous glare at his Sergeant, but this time Ed didn't drop his gaze. Ironside had always thought that the look of his brown eyes was warm. It wasn't. At least not right now.

Cold blue eyes stared into cold brown ones and vice versa…


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Neither man broke his stare for at least a full minute.

Suddenly Ironside leaned back. "Okay my friend, tell me the whole story. From the beginning."

Ed needed a moment to adjust to the new situation: Ironside had merely wanted to make sure that he really trusted the boy. At the bottom of his heart he had to admit that the whole matter did sound unbelievable and idealistic.

He gave the Chief a full report.

Of course Ironside wanted to see Andrew too. Ed had left him downstairs.

The Chief scrutinized the boy, and he liked what he saw. On the other hand he sensed the tension between him and his Sergeant.

"Ed, go downstairs and get me the Fuller file, will you? There might be a connection."

Obediently Ed stood up. It wasn't the first time the Chief sent him 'to get the Fuller file'. It was an absolutely uninteresting case with no possible connection to their present problem. Ironside simply wanted to talk to Andrew alone.

Chief Robert T. Ironside happened to be quite well-known, not only in the underworld, but also among people reading the newspapers.

For Andrew police officers were tools of a state which persecuted people like Christians in Romania, for instance. But this man was different: The boy knew his reputation. He was handicapped – not as badly as his little brother, but heavily enough – and he kept his chin up. That was awe-inspiring. And now that he was standing in front of him, eyeball-to-eyeball – he was willing to trust him.

"Andrew, what's the problem between you and Sgt. Brown?"

The boy looked away. Then he plucked up courage to face the man who exuded so much sincerity and strength.  
"He is like two persons: Mr. Grey, a wonderful teacher; his tutoring is very catching for the good students, but he also knows how to explain things to those who have difficulties. He can even handle the bullies in class and outside. And then I learned that he has lied to us all along: He is a policeman. He fought in Vietnam. He doesn't care if people die because of the 'Agent Orange' they use, or if newborns have birth defects."

"How do you know that he doesn't care?" countered the Chief.

"He doesn't even believe me."

"Yes, he does." Ironside turned his chair a little in order to face the youngster. His voice was very serious when he went on:  
"Eighteen months ago Sgt. Brown investigated a company which produced 'Agent Orange' and the like. He prevented them from selling something even more poisonous to the army*. We almost lost him then. Believe me, he cares! His work as a teacher at your school is called 'undercover work'. Actually it was me who sent him there. He had to find out who sabotaged the refuse incinerator and why. Then he walked in here and risked a scolding _because_ he believed you. Don't you think you could trust him?"

Ironside could not be quite sure, but to him it looked as if Andrew was extremely relieved that he did not have to hate Ed anymore.

Right then Brown entered. He had not even bothered to bring along a folder to fool the boy. He made the detour to the stove and filled two cups with coffee, setting one in front of Andrew and keeping the other for himself. The Chief was probably drinking his third one already.

"Andrew, do you have any proof for the promise of installing the new cleaning system?" Ironside wanted to know.

"Yessir, there are even some layouts of it. I kept all the newspaper articles I could find at the time. This was when Tommy should have started walking and we were all shocked when we understood how badly he was handicapped, that's why I was so preoccupied with the plant. I thought from the beginning that it had something to do with the off-gas, because I had read about certain chemicals causing such symptoms."

"Will you entrust me with these newspaper clippings? I promise you to give them back."

Andrew nodded, surprised. The way the famous detective handled this case was completely different from what he had expected. Instead of being put into prison it looked like he would be helped in his fight against the plant.

As if Ironside could read his mind he smiled friendly at him, then he addressed his Sergeant: "Ed, I want you to take Andrew home and bring these articles here. In the meantime I will think about how to use them in the best possible manner."

* * *

For a minute Ironside just sat there, considering what he had learned. In a way Andrew's suspicions made sense. Ironside didn't believe in coincidence. As soon as Eve would come in he would send her to try and verify if there was a significant increase in the rate of birth defects and cancer in San Rafael – or in a part of the town.

On the other hand he had never heard of a problem with dioxin within the U.S. since the case with 'Bonsanto Chemicals'*, and he had sure kept his eyes and ears open, and so had Ed. Actually – if dioxin was the cause of the diseases, then this meant that the refuse incinerator was most probably _not _the cause of it. But then – herbicides containing dioxin were perhaps being used excessively in agriculture, but not in a town. He wondered if there was another substance which could cause similar symptoms – a substance connected to incinerating refuse.

After Eve had left with her new assignment he dialed the number of the chemical laboratory. He hoped that Roberts, the chemistry genius, would be available now. He was, and he was always willing to drop everything and come up to Ironside's office to discuss some really difficult problems with him. Both of them appreciated the other man's skills.

"A substance causing similar symptoms as dioxin? We are not even sure what symptoms dioxin causes. Oh, we are sure about 'chloracne' of course. Personally I believe the reports we get from Vietnam about an increase of birth defects, but our government doesn't; otherwise they would stop the use of 'Agent Orange'.  
Something with similar properties however would be furan. Dibenzofuran is a heterocyclic organic compound. It has two benzene rings fused to one furan ring in the middle. All of the numbered carbon atoms have a hydrogen atom bonded to each of them. Dibenzofuran is an aromatic ether…"

Ironside interrupted him: "Give me a break! As much as I admire your knowledge, this goes too much into detail. The suspicion arose that the substance in question could come from a refuse incineration plant. Could this happen with dibenzofuran?"

"Sure. It builds up for instance when PVC is burnt. And since more and more PVC is being used, there will be more of the stuff thrown away, causing an increasing amount of dibenzofuran. The disposal can be done, yet it is difficult and expensive."

"And it could cause cancer and birth defects?"

"I have no proof, but in my opinion – yes. It's the equivalent of dioxin."

* * *

Ed brought the newspaper clippings. They matched Andrew's assertions.

The Chief's voice sounded sad when he stated: "The boy was right about the increase of birth defects in that area and a high number of cancer cases too. There is no official statistic, but Eve's researches confirmed his suspicions. Unfortunately we will never be able to prove a link between these cases in general – or any single one – to the refuse incineration plant."  
The sound of his voice changed slightly. Frustration and suppressed fury let him add: "But I will not allow them to go on like this. We will stop them."

Visibly the Chief was mulling over how to solve the problem.

Ed and Mark knew better than to disturb him. Then, out of the blue, a dimpled grin spread over his face.

"Okay boys, let's do a boys' prank…"

* * *

*ff-story "The Color of Death"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"You know that in Chicago the Paddies dye their river green on St. Patrick's day? They use a harmless chemical named 'uranin'."

He explained his idea. They would send photocopies of the newspaper clippings to several important newspapers in San Rafael and San Francisco in order to have an audience which would help him carry out his plans.

"There are some newly-constructed houses right on the canal. The actor Wilson Peek moved into one of them recently. He is always good for a little scandal. I will call my aunt Victoria. Her friends of the 'Thursday Afternoon Bridge Club' will be happy to be involved in a new case. I will ask them to tell the same newspapers that there will be some smashing news at Wilson Peek's tomorrow morning."

Actually he had forbidden that the old ladies play detectives again, but it looked as if they would not obey him anyway, and at least this assignment didn't look dangerous at all.

"Peek won't mind a little publicity. When the reporters see our work of art and compare it to the newspaper clippings, then the San Rafael police will not be able to look the other way anymore. The newspapers and the police together will put pressure on the company and the cleaning system will have to be completed."

Ed and Mark exchanged surprised looks. This was not quite the official way, but it might very well work.

"That's brilliant, Chief!" Mark grinned, and the Sergeant nodded. He would have preferred a conviction of the culprits and the obligation for them to pay for whatever damage they had done. But the Chief was right: they would not be able to prove the connection. A smart defense lawyer would get the company off the hook with flying colors. This was the best they could do under the circumstances.

"Who will throw the can with the uranin?" asked Ironside.

"My aim's better," stated Mark, challenging his friend. "I used to practice with stones, a lot. On street lamps."

Ed knew that this was probably true: Mark _was_ good. Of course he would never admit it openly. "You are not a police officer."

Ironside smirked. "Being a police officer hardly qualifies you for a boys' prank, Sergeant!"

The ghost of a smile crossed the serious young man's face.  
"Sir, there is a chance that we could kill two birds with one stone. I have a plastic bag which has Pierce's fingerprints on it."  
In short Brown explained his run-in with Pierce and his two mates, still downplaying it a little.  
"As a piece of evidence for assaulting me it would have been very weak, but as a sign pointing to Pierce it could be valuable. It could keep him from risking further run-ins with the police."

"Ed!" Mark was dumbfounded about the usually-so-straight Sergeant's guile.

Brown shrugged his shoulders. "Teaching is tricky nowadays. You get a totally new insight in human life," he tried as an excuse, but it was visible that he didn't feel at ease framing a kid.

Ironside nodded, pleased with this new aspect of his plan. It could very well save them a lot of trouble, especially when Mallone became suspicious of his own son – and it could also very well help Pierce keep on the straight and narrow, even if it was only out of fear of the police. But it would be a start. It might even give back to his mother some hope and will to live.

* * *

When Mark had left to distribute the newspaper articles Ironside looked thoughtfully at his Sergeant. He was sitting at the table with his shoulders hanging and an unreadable expression on his face.

A suspicion arose in the Chief's mind. "Ed, what's the matter with your back? You were hurt in that fight with Pierce and consorts, were you not?"

His boss missed not much, even if one tried to hide it from him, Brown thought.  
"No, not seriously. It's just a scratch."

Ironside knew quite well about his Sergeant's habit of talking about such 'scratches', but at the same time he was glad that his assistant was no wimp. Therefore he didn't insist on the subject.  
"What is it then that bothers you?"

"I'm thinking about something Andrew's mother said. How can somebody speak of love towards people who hurt them?"  
He didn't want to mention his own injury, it was negligible. But it was obvious that the woman had spoken from her own experience.  
"Her little boy has to suffer so much, probably because of that incineration plant. How can she forgive the ones responsible for it?"

Ironside considered his reply carefully. This was not the time for being sarcastic or showing his usual rough shell.

"For some people the center of their faith is being forgiven by God. Therefore they think that they have to forgive others too. In fact the only person you affect by holding a grudge against somebody is yourself. Probably faith gives Andrew's mother the strength to forgive and live a life full of love towards others."

Ed nodded. "It must be great to have this kind of faith. I admire the way she and her family live. But… they could not do it if people like us did not protect them."

"Perhaps not, or only if they were ready to risk their lives and the lives of their children almost every day. They fled from Romania, remember? Our country is supposed to guarantee freedom and religious liberty and equal chances for everybody. It is our job to protect these rights."

Ed stood up and started to pace back and forth.  
"Andrew called me a liar. I didn't like it. I even lied to protect him from being prosecuted. We work with lies and with violence and with tricks as in this case. I would like the world to be black and white, and our work the white part, but it isn't. It's just a paler shade of grey."

Ironside heard the distress behind the honest young man's words. He pondered his answer thoroughly.  
"You are right. The system is not perfect, and we have to fight every day for the grey not to gradually turn into black. People like the Drakes remind us that the white still exists: faith, righteousness and pure love. They need us to protect them, but we need them too, to keep our conscience alive."

Ed nodded, not happy with this answer, but accepting it, together with the burden which came with it. Pain and exhaustion were clearly visible on his face now.

Having an idea about how tired his assistant had to be after his double shifts as teacher and detective the Chief added: "Go get some rest, Sergeant. I will need you tomorrow to save the white ones with our shade of grey."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Actor Wilson Peek was very surprised when he looked out his window on Sunday morning: Dozens of reporters were gathered in front of his house.

"Sir, is it true that you have a new girlfriend again?" shouted one of them.

"No, you already wrote about Cindy and me two weeks ago. But I like seeing her picture in the newspapers, why don't you take another one? Come on, Cindy…!"

Cindy was crazy about Wilson, but not about publicity.

"Don't you think that the canal is more interesting than me today?" she asked.

"The canal? Why?" people asked all at once.

"It's green!" one of the photographers shouted from the other side of the house, and the whole crowd ran away to take pictures of the strangely-colored water.

* * *

… The rest resolved itself. Since there was no smashing news about Wilson Peek, the journalists were happy to write about a pollution scandal.

Somebody called the police. Reporters and the police followed the canal and found out that the green color came from the refuse incineration plant.  
The CEO, Burt Mallone, insisted that Chief Ironside be involved. He was sure that his plant could not have caused this pollution. Ironside turned up with Ed.

They pretended to search the compound. Soon it was established that the green color wasn't caused by the running of the plant but that it came from a can marked 'uranin' found in a plastic bag lying near the fence – a harmless chemical, nothing endangering nature.  
Ed showed the corpus delicti to Mallone: It was an ordinary plastic bag with the 'Pitt & Pat' logo, the most expensive clothes shop of San Rafael. "We will probably find on it the fingerprints of the person who threw it," Ironside explained. Of course Mark had used gloves when touching it.

Mallone knew the logo well: His son liked buying his clothes from 'Pitt & Pat'. Frightened he tried to dismiss the accusation: "No real damage was caused. It's good to know that all this was only children's escapades. I am ready to drop all the charges…"

Again the reporters made long faces because they had lost the subject of their much needed story. But as Ironside had anticipated, one of the wittiest among them remembered the newspaper clippings he had read the day before. He wanted to see the new flue gas cleanup system. A wave of protest arose when the news people found out that it was not installed yet. Finally they had their scandal.

The district attorney decided that the running of the plant had to be stopped until that system would be constructed.

* * *

Six months later…

The door to Ironside's office-apartment opened and a part of the Drake family walked in: Peter, his wife Deborah with little Tommy on her arm, and Andrew.

"Hello Mista Ionside!" shouted the little boy, radiant with happiness. His language was still a little slurred, but definitely understandable.

"The surgery your friends paid for has worked miracles," explained Mrs. Drake. Her joy and thankfulness was not as loud as her little son's, but Ironside felt that it went deep.

"Tommy is developing extremely well. He shows us every day that he is going to be as smart as Andrew," Peter Drake added proudly. "With you as an example he will fight for his place in life, even if he can't walk."

Ironside was very touched, but he didn't want any gratitude.

"What about you, Andrew? You managed to get justice. You even achieved that things in a big enterprise changed. Do you want to join the police later?"

"No, Sir," answered Andy quietly, "as much as I admire you and Sgt. Brown.  
I want to become a doctor and help children like Tommy."

Ed encouraged him: "I'm sure you will succeed. Do you get along with the bullies now?"

"They keep the promise they made in that Phys Ed lesson. Rope climbing is very popular these days, and some girls seem to have developed a liking for math! Pierce Mallone has stopped showing up. I don't know what's happened to him."

Ironside did. He had met Belinda Mallone when he had talked the high society of San Rafael into donating the money for Tommy's surgery. She had changed a lot: Clad in a beautiful blue dress she had helped the Chief with his fundraising project, and she had supported her husband during the tough times he had to go through with his company.

"Pierce was sent to a private school. I heard that his behavior has improved considerably," Ironside smiled.  
He was sure that Pierce knew that as soon as he would get in conflict with the law his fingerprints would be registered but he didn't know what would happen then. So he had every interest in staying straight.

Alluding to his own past and Andy's foray into illegality Mark threw in: "See, some 'bad boys' want to become lawyers like me, some want to be doctors… and who knows what will become of Pierce?"

Deborah, who knew nothing about the case and its shades of grey, completed: "Yes, God's ways with us are wonderful, and so often much better than we hoped."

* * *

_Author's note:  
Thank you, dear beta Lemonpig! Thank you, dear reviewers! Thank you, dear readers! Your interest is the fuel for my writing._


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